


By Your Side

by Bischedule (neunundneunzig)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neunundneunzig/pseuds/Bischedule
Summary: Aziraphale has been made human, but with no memory of his several-lives-long friend. Crowley decides to hang around anyways.





	1. Chapter 1

The bell rang with a sharp clattering. Mr. A. Fell gave a thin lipped smile. One that was a polite gesture of complete displeasure. He didn't hate _every_ instance of his bookstore being visited. But he'd grown accustomed to finding ways to drive people out. It was much more like a large collection than a shop, and he had money in the bank that kept him from needing to sell anything but a few odd books every week. 

The man entering the store here didn't seem like interested clientele either. He was decked in all black, walking with a rather lazy saunter. The stroll and the dark sunglasses on an overcast day like this gave Mr. Fell the impression this man was hungover or already drunk. 

"Sir, the, ah, adult bookstore is a street over, same spot. Common mistake." Mr. Fell watched, waiting for him to slither out. 

"Ha ha." The man said dryly, running a finger over a dusty cover. 

"Sir, can I help you?" Mr. Fell asked, walking closer to him. People despised a hovering shopkeeper. It usually drove them right out. 

The man gave him (what he could best surmise to be) a baffled look. It was a bit difficult with the glasses. He then smiled, like they were sharing a joke, "Oh, hm, why yes. I suppose I'm looking for something by Agnes Nutter, got any of hers?"

"No, I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know of her." He replied. 

"Alright, Aziraphale, this isn't funny. You're no good at it." Crowley shook his head. The man opposite him frowned, and didn't move an inch more. Crowley took his glasses off, looking around in bewilderment. Was this a trap? Had they finally come for them again?

"Demon. We wondered how long it would be until you came by." A thin black woman with a crisp white suit stepped out from behind a shelf. 

"Hey, I am outside your delegation, back off." Crowley pulled a knife from his snakeskin boot. 

"You're going to want to hear what I have to say." She looked at the knife, and it crumbled to rust, "Time's ran up for Aziraphale. But he's been given… somewhat of a light sentence."

Crowley sniffed his frozen friend, "He's… human!"

"Yes. He's been permitted to stay corporeal and keep his precious store and… cavort with his demons. But he's to be no more trouble for Heaven."

"First off, it's demon, singular." He huffed, "And you what, shot his memory too?"

"We can't have him wrecking any more havoc on our plans. You should both feel satisfied enough for that." 

"That's not-" 

She vanished and time resumed. 

"...fair…" he muttered.

"It's, ah, Mr. Fell." The human with his dear friends face said. 

Crowley slid his glasses on and turned heel. He couldn't stand to look at the nasty human thing standing there. It was an injustice. A mockery. He opened his mouth to say something, shut it with a grimace and gave a frustrated gesticulation before storming out. 

Mr. Fell watched the man go. Drugs, must be, he decided. Explained the glasses even better then. He pitied the poor man, but was just as happy to have that sort out of his shop. He went back to his reading in peace, content as a mouse in a cheese cellar. 

Crowley would spend the next week pacing the block anxiously. He had nothing to say to whoever was standing in his friend's bookstore and his friend's body. It would have been more merciful if Heaven just snatched him up. This was a particular cruelty. But he couldn't just completely ignore it. He'd put out some calls already, and was waiting to hear back on anything that would undo this awful joke. 

So that week, instead of having a nice lunch with Aziraphale, he got moderately drunk and found himself back at the imposter's bookshop. 

Mr. Fell looked up at the clumsy clattering of the bell. He was back again. The tall, handsome, stoned man. 

"Yes, can I help you?" He walked up. Being friendly seemed to scare him off well enough before. 

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, trying to think of anything he'd need in the store. Mr. Fell couldn't quite tell if he was leering at him or falling asleep. He was starting to feel the need to call the cops. 

"Yeah." He shrugged, "Dy'do poison?"

"No sir, just books, this is a bookshop." He gave a wave to the stacks around him. 

"Yes, well, silly question. I mean books about poison?"

"Yes, they're in the spells, alchemy and culinary arts section." He gestured vaguely in it's .direction. He didn't want this man touching a single one of his books, and he certainly didn't think this man needed any more poison or chemicals. 

Mr. Fell watched him stroll over to the section. Might be heroin. He was skinny enough for it for certain. He frowned and walked closer, suddenly worried one of his books would get stolen and pawned. 

The man tripped on his feet and nearly smashed into the floor. Mr. Fell jumped closer quick to catch him, and lowered him to a nearby stool, "Easy there." He sighed, feeling responsible at once, "Do you have someone I could call? You don't seem well."

Crowley grumbled, "No… no one. Thank you, uh…"

"Mr. Fell. Anthony Fell. Can I get you a glass of water or some tea?"

Crowley have a short laugh. Leave it to angels to do so poorly. Really weren't any creative types up there. Aziraphale hardly liked that name and would never pick it for himself. He braced himself a bit on the stool before offering his hand, "Quite th'coincidence. Anthony J. Crowley."

"Suppose I'll call you Crowley then."

The man, Crowley, grinned wide at this. Mr. Fell gave a nod and paced off, coming back with a glass of water. He took it and raised it in a thankful cheer before drinking. The glass was drained quickly. 

"I, er… I'm sorry, I'm rather drunker than I thought."

Mr. Fell relaxed, glad to hear it was only alcohol. He patted his arm, "That's alright, I'll call a cab for you. Do you live in the city?"

"Yeah, yeah, I..." he muttered, "I'm sorry… I… I just lost my best friend." His voice broke a bit, threatening tears.

Mr. Fell sighed in sympathy. The poor man really was hurting. He rubbed his shoulder, "I'm so sorry my dear. Did he… pass on?"

"No." The man choked, "No he… he just changed. And he doesn't even… doesn't even recognize me…"

Crowley blinked, feeling arms around him. Aziraphale was hugging him. It was terribly human. While he was certain the angel had hugged before, it wasn't quite his manner. The awkward back rubbing made him assume it wasn't this human's manner either. 

"Er… there there." He pulled back, "Perhaps… if it could help, I have a few books on sobriety."

"Ah, no, that's not really what…"

"Please. I'll give them to you, free of charge. I don't know why I even have the damned things, they came in a surplus shipment. I'll be right back." He scurried upstairs. 

Crowley watched him, a smile growing on his face. Maybe this wasn't perfect. In fact, it was completely fucked. But there could be something made of it. After all, down in there was still Aziraphale's personality, his… himness. The nature to give a gift to a rude stranger and yet to be a condescending prick in the process. Yes, he could make this work. 

When Mr. Fell returned, Crowley was gone. He knit his eyebrows, three paperbacks in hand and peered out the door. He didn't see anyone stumbling down the streets. He said a little prayer that Crowley made it home safe. To Crowley, it kind of felt like a mosquito bite.

* * *

Mr. Fell scribbled away at some expense reports. He didn't quite understand them, but everything went all well and he never had a problem with the lights staying on, so he continued to do them as he did. He closed the book and stretched, deciding on maybe eggs for lunch. When he turned around, the damned man was leaning in the doorframe of his office, watching him. 

He jumped back, "Oh! Mr. Crowley! I didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah, I got rid of that bell. I sort of hate it." He smiled, "I wanted to-"

"The door bell? Then how will I know if a customer's coming in?" He paced past him, shocked at the gall of the man. 

"I've locked the front door, so they shouldn't be." Crowley followed behind. 

Aziraphale turned and put his hands up, eyes wide, "The money is in the back room! Please just don't take any of my books, I beg you!"

Crowley frowned, "I'm not robbing you! I'm taking you to lunch. I wanted to, uh, thank you for being so kind the other day?" He winced out, needing a reason to not be a stranger. 

He looked at Crowley. He was wearing possibly the same clothes as his last two visits, but managed not to smell like he had. The glasses hid his whole eyes, but even without seeing them, there was a bit of pleading evident on his face. Mr. Fell smiled. This man needed a friend. He could probably benefit from one too. 

"Why… I suppose it is lunch time. Really couldn't hurt."

* * *

"This is a rather nice place. What do you do, Mr. Crowley, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"Er, just Crowley. I mostly work commission on various projects. Jack of all trades." He gave a wave of the hand. The waiter came up, and he ordered on habit, "Steak, rare, with the house Merlot. Oysters in cream sauce and a Chardonnay for him."

The waiter wrote it down politely and left before Mr. Fell could get a word in. He blinked at the man, completely surprised. He clearly misunderstood the meaning of being asked for dinner. He would have straightened his hair a bit more, maybe had a lighter breakfast. He blushed and looked down, "My… I've never even had oysters."

"Wh… hm. Oh, You'll love them, I'm certain of it." He shrugged, confused by _that_ look on _that_ face. 

Mr. Fell nodded, unable to look at the man's face. He'd never been the subject of such attention before, it had him flustered. After a moment, he tried to push the talk along poorly, "Should you be having wine? With your alcoholism and all? Maybe a sparkling water would be better."

"I'm not an alcoholic, you misread." He frowned, then sighed. He would have to give Aziraphale something, "It was actually a cult that my friend got involved with."

Close enough to the truth anyways. Not that it mattered, he was a demon, he'd spun far worse lies. Aziraphale nodded considerately, "Yes, I was a brother for some years before the bookshop. I didn't enjoy it much, why I left. Maybe he'll come back some day as well. Were you, ah, close friends?" He tried to ask in as non-encroaching a voice as possible. 

"Oh the closest." He got a fond look, "I knew him for years and years. He just couldn't stand me at first, nor I him. But we just kept seeing each other through work and…"

"Now, were you coworkers at...?" He tried again. It was curious, the vintage car and the fancy restaurant. 

"Well, actually more of a rival company, you could say." He waved the question off again. How mysterious. Mr. Fell tried to not blush again. 

Crowley blinked a bit. Aziraphale was giving him that strange look again. He was about to ask when their drinks arrived. He nearly took a large swig, definitely needing to be less sober for this bizarre lunch. But the last thing he needed was more talk about a drinking problem from the one being on earth nearly capable of putting him under the table. He swirled it for show, then sipped at it. "So… a brother?"

"Yes." He smiled, as if embarrassed, "Really I don't even remember it well, it was all so boring. It was just what I felt expected to do. Then one day I get a nice inheritance sum from a dead great uncle and I decide, that's it, I'll have the library I've always dreamed of."

Crowley smiled and leaned in. The talk went a bit easier. Angel, human, memory or no, it was still his friend. He was as sharp with theological debate still, but Crowley had the added benefit of remembering it firsthand. Aziraphale loved his meal of course, even scraping up the sauce with his bread at the end, thanking Crowley for the suggestion. 

Crowley drove him back home, trying to supress a bit his usual road rage. Aziraphale nearly asked if he could turn on anything else but Queen, but his politeness overrode.

He was mentally steeling himself. Yes, the man was devilishly handsome. And yes, he had bought a very nice dinner. And yes, he'd never been so much as asked on a date before nonetheless what followed. But he was an old fashioned man, and he would keep his sensibilities about him. 

Crowley pulled up and sauntered out. He was moving towards the entrance of the shop, another habit. Usually following dinner they would get blindingly drunk. He'd at least have another. But Aziraphale cut in front of him, barring his entry. 

"Well, Crowley, I really have had a nice time tonight." He scrambled in his pocket, handing over an embossed business card, "I would love to do this again some time, certainly, but I'm going to have to call it an early night."

The disheartened look on Crowley's face as he took the card was too much. Aziraphale needed to take a small chance, a massive leap. He tipped forward and pressed his lips to Crowley's. They were cold and thin. He kissed back for half a moment before they both broke away. 

Aziraphale didn't take the time to look back up at him, muttering a quick, "I hope you'll call." And vanishing inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley sat in his car, in shock. That was certainly new. Even in times and places where kissing was a friendly gesture, Aziraphale had never taken to it, except at times on the cheek. 

This made sense of the strange looks at dinner. 

Crowley was no stranger to seduction, in fact, he was very skilled at times. But in no way did he think he was turning the charm onto Aziraphale. They were having lunch like old friends. And then Aziraphale kissed him. And then he rushed inside when Crowley tried to just come for a drink. 

The realization hit Crowley. Aziraphale had assumed Crowley was coming in for, well, what came after a date. 

He whipped out his mobile phone, grimacing, "Bloody pervert angels, how dare they…" he pounded 7 three times, willing the call to go through. 

"Gates of Heaven."

"Yes! I was-"

"For Confession and Repentance, please dial one. For Beatitudes, please dial two. For Customer Service-"

Crowley slammed the three, grimacing as a staticy piano version of _How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?_ played. 

"Customer Service Department." 

"Yes! I have a complaint about Aziraphale."

"Ah. Been many since all that business. Yes, let me transfer you." 

The car started moving him towards home while he waited, gritting his teeth through the hold music. 

"Hello! Another about Aziraphale eh? Have you already received your pay for delayed-Apocalypse related grief?"

"It's Crowley." He growled, "I want to talk to whoever sent him down."

There was a bit of scrambling and muttering from the other end. He could tell as the talking resumed that he was now on speakerphone. 

"Crawly. We don't normally take calls from your sort. But is he… operationally human?" 

"Yes, he's fine, no leaking halo or whatnot. You just…" he frowned. There wasn't quite a good way to say this. He bit the bullet, "You made him gay!"

There was a bit of silence. Finally, the creaking of a chair and another voice, "We gave him human genitals… but Aziraphale's personality hasn't been changed, only his memory."

"No, no, you're not getting out of this! Cruel joke to play on us both, not very saintly of you, of any of you!"

On the other end, looks were exchanged. A voice further back started, "Were the two of them not-" and a thump, then quiet. 

"Pure bastards." He hung up. 

Sure Aziraphale was always a little… funny. And people had made those assumptions of him since the times of the Romans. His penchant for theatre, strange fashions, and culinary delights didn't help. Nor his friendships with more artistic types. 

But if any of that was anything more than stereotypes, Crowley would have been the first to know. 

And it's not as though he didn't think about it. He just tried not to. There's some friendships not worth spoiling, and at no point did Crowley ever think any affections would be returned. It took years for Aziraphale to even admit they were friends at all. It just wasn't worth it. And for scores of angels to have the impression...

Crowley's car pulled to a halt at a red light, and the jerk of it hit him with a realization. 

He and Aziraphale had been dating. They were dating. For a good few decades now. Dinner dates and strolls in the park. Sure he saw it platonic but at another perspective… 

Well then. What difference would the occasion kiss make to it?

* * *

Aziraphale couldn't focus on a paragraph. His heart was fluttering. It was such a great day, he could only hope and wait for a call back. It had been two days now since their date. He tried not to worry his sensibilities didn't scare Crowley off. He told himself that if it did, Crowley wasn't a man worth him dating. 

As he was starting to worry if he was to die alone with his books, the bell he replaced rang. 

"Ah. You got it back on." Crowley strode in confidently, leaning on the wall, "So, how's it been, angel?"

Aziraphale found himself completely flustered. He ducked, blushing hard before managing, "Well, and yourself."

"Hoping you'd be interested in a stroll. Been to St. James Park?"

"Once or twice I believe. But only during the daytime." He rushed to add. 

"Er. Yes, Well, the sun's out now, and I've got some ginger snaps for the ducks."

"Don't they prefer bread?"

"A friend told me once it's no good for them." Crowley shrugged. 

"I suppose I could take the afternoon." He moved to the entrance, flipping over the OPEN sign, "I'm really glad to hear from you again, Crowley."

Crowley gave a bit of a smile and held the door for him happily. He was still getting used to that tone and that look. It made sense maybe but it still left him almost confused.

Their hands brushed together as they walked. Crowley tried to not let it make his heart skip. It was all uncharted territory. He'd been around more than even most demons but this was something new. Genuine care and affection. He knew it was what Aziraphale would give to him and he wouldn't dream of responding with anything else. Besides, dear Mr. Fell seemed just as prude. 

But as soon as they sat down and Crowley pulled the biscuits, seemingly from nowhere, Aziraphale reached over and took his hand. Crowley felt his chest pounding. He offered the box. Aziraphale took them with one hand, continuing to look at Crowley with that horribly lovey-dovey expression. 

"You really are quite the romantic, Crowley. I'm finding myself taken away."

"Don't mention it." He tried to mumbled, but it sounded more a seductive purr, "So… any good books lately?"

"Oh yes! I've just gotten in some third edition Dickinsons!" He smiled, tossing half a snap out, "Not the most stunning of my collection, but certainly a good find. I've been reading some here and there. I find myself usually between five or six books at once."

Crowley was about to respond when he found his package snatched away by an impatient goose. He stood, very offended, "Hey! Give that back!"

He tried to glower it into submission, but being as geese have no fear of Hell, he met no success. He squared up, assessing the threat before bucking up threateningly. The package was dropped in favor of an angry hiss. Crowley hissed back, and grabbed the bag up. He returned to the bench and flopped down, "Bastards."

Aziraphale smiled, "That was quite- My Heavens!" He gasped, jumping back, "Your eyes are quite…."

Crowley saw his glasses lying on the ground nearby. He grabbed them up quickly and put them back on, "Erm, sorry there, didn't mean to scare you."

"Are those the decorative contacts? I've seen similar before." He peered curiously. 

"Yes." He jumped on it. 

"And you wear them under your glasses?"

Crowley winced. He should have said no. He was shocked he could even see them. Most humans couldn't. Some could, and it had gotten him burned at the stake once. One of the many reasons he favored keeping on glasses. "I. Well, I wore them too long and they fused with my eyes. Doctors couldn't get them out without blinding me."

"That sounds unlikely." Mr. Fell frowned. 

"You'd have read about it in the papers, but I settled out of court." He nodded resolutely. 

He reached up with gentle fingers, the delicate touch reserved for fragile books, and pulled his glasses off, studying his eyes. Crowley tried not to look away. He felt vulnerable. He broke first, glancing down.

"Do they hurt?" He nearly whispered, one hand holding the glasses, the other resting on his cheek.

"No. Not much." He turned away from his touch a bit. It felt undeserved.

"They're really lovely. Not something I'd quite wear." He added quickly, "But very stylish."

"Thank you." He responded, finding himself staring at Aziraphale's lips. 

He leaned up before he could stop himself and gave them a gentle peck. Aziraphale touched his arm gently and kissed back, sweet and gentle. 

Crowley hardly let himself get as far as imagining kissing Aziraphale for a long time. But this met expectations. It was sweet and kind, but enough to thrill him in a particular way. This was his angel. 

Aziraphale pulled back, "Was that alright? I didn't know if this was too public a place to-"

Crowley kissed him again, a bit deeper. This was what he'd been waiting for. The freedom of it was almost what he felt on his stretch down to hell. No, sweeter. He knew what he was getting into here. Aziraphale broke away again with a hand on his chest. 

"Oh Mr. Crowley, really you're…" he was completely flustered. 

Ah, Aziraphale. He didn't know how else to go but slow. This time, Crowley felt he had the time to wait for him.

"Right, sorry. Should I escort you to the shop? I'd love to see some of your books."

Aziraphale smiled, standing and taking his hand for the walk back. They got a look or two on the streets, as much for being an unlikely couple as anything. Aziraphale chatted on happily about his collection, mentioning to perked ears his collection of books of prophecy and all other manner of interesting rarities. 

Aziraphale held the door for him, still wearing that stupid grin.

"Thank you." He shifted, "Do you, ah, have wine here?"

He knew Aziraphale kept a wonderfully stocked cellar. He hoped Mr. Fell didn't throw it all out for any reason. He'd have to be a madman to not treasure some of the vintages. 

"Quite fond of it aren't you?" He smiled and stood, "My offer still stands for the sobriety books… but yes, I've got a few bottles in the back I believe. Do you have any preference?"

"Something old." He sat, trying not to make presumptions. 

"I believe I've got that," he disappeared. 

Crowley took a slow breath. He kissed his friend. And he kissed him back. This was perfectly fine, it had to be. He had to not think too much right now about how it would feel to twirl his fingers in the fallen angel's hair, or lace their fingers together, or maybe even what he looked like under those awful layers…

Aziraphale returned with a bottle and two glasses, "This… is nearly 80 years old. Quite dusty on the outside, but it's been aged quite fine." He poured them both one, "But I warm you, it's strong for a wine."

Crowley took the glass and drank, making a pleased noise. It was all wine to him. He knew bad wine of course, but this was good enough for him to drink. Of course, Aziraphale could have served him bottled dishwater right now and he's be inclined to drink it anyways. 

"I'll confess, I'm quite a fan of the drink as well, one of many reasons I didn't cut it as well with the cloth."

"Can I guess another?" He teased. 

Aziraphale looked down, "Well… as long as you remain celibate, they don't quite mind. And that certainly wasn't difficult for me." 

Crowley sighed and looked down. He shifted a bit, not even half drunk enough to let himself think about Aziraphale shirtless maybe, all soft and smooth flesh. He shook his head, "So, Dickinson?"

He smiled and pulled out the books, popping one open, 

"There is a pain, So utter.  
It swallows substance up.  
Then covers the abyss with-"

"Ah Dickinson. Much too morbid for my tastes, no sir." Crowley smiled a bit, then joked to himself, "Got any Milton?"

"Oh! Do I!" He sprung up over to a shelf, "You really should give Ms. Dickinson a chance, she's far before her time." He said over his shoulder, pulling a dusted tome out. Crowley drank more. 

He came up behind Aziraphale, moving his hands around, encapsulating him and flipping to a page, "What do you think? Is it better to reign in hell or serve in heaven?"

Aziraphale shivered and turned to look at Crowley, "Surely there's another option."

He didn't know just it was about what he said, but Crowley seemed to like it immensely. He was smiling ear to ear. Aziraphale smiled and reached up with his free hand, taking the glasses off to look in his eyes. They were dazzling. "What about you?"

"I think I do rather prefer it here on earth." He kept smiling, and Mr. Fell felt certain he'd misunderstood something. He decided to break the tension in his increasingly favorite way and gave Crowley another chaste kiss. 

Crowley cupped his face and pushed him against the shelf. It was riveting and nearly too much all at once. He heard a weak noise come out of himself as his bottom lip was sucked on. He was kissing back, less experienced and just as eager. Crowley tasted of ginger and wine and it was addicting. He felt the hint of a tongue being slid into his mouth before he scrambled away again. 

Crowley looked a bit embarrassed, but still stared at Aziraphale a good bit. He shifted, "Sorry, didn't mean to overwhelm you."

"I… enjoyed it." Aziraphale grabbed his glass and drank, "But Mr. Crowley, I'm really quite old fashioned. If you're looking for something quick, I don't believe I'm the man for you."

"No, no, sorry I only get… I think you might be the perfect one for me." He grabbed up his own glass, "I've been… single for some time now. I think I want what you have to offer, 'Phel."

Mr. Fell smiled and bit and sat, "You know how to charm, I'll give you that."

"It's one of my specialties, angel. Charming and drinking, I'm really good at them."

* * *

Soon enough, Aziraphale was passed out on his armchair and Crowley was polishing off their latest bottle, muttering despite himself, "How d'ya take a cloud and pin'er dooooown…" 

A certain fondness had cemented itself in his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was no longer what brightened up Aziraphale's bookshop. He spent the hours just waiting at the counter for Crowley to come in. He didn't visit every day. Sometimes he'd come in often and a few occasions went almost week without. 

When he came in, Aziraphale's face lit up. On a nice day, they would walk through the park, or sometimes just sit at their bench, tossing biscuits to the birds. If Aziraphale hadn't eaten (which he often waited late to do) they would go for lunch. He'd pester Crowley if he didn't order, insistent he wasn't eating enough. The evenings found them sharing bottles of wine, shouting about literature, and sharing slow, tannin-tinged kisses. 

Crowley did a poor job of hiding some of his more demonic aspects. But Aziraphale was blinded to the small details. He never noticed the gears occasionally shifting in Crowley's car without him touching it. He passed the identical outfit off as a styled choice. The way no customer came in while he visited was only very occasionally Crowley's doing. Extra bottles of wine appearing weren't quite questioned at certain points. 

However, he did come to notice the forked tongue. 

The first time Crowley tried to put it in his mouth, he was met with what he saw as immediate revulsion, but instead was complete confusion. 

"What was that?!"

"Er, Some call it a french kiss, but it's far older than those… than them." He pulled back. 

"Yes, well I meant your tongue. Is there something wrong with it?" 

Crowley poked it out in a bit of confusion. Aziraphale studied it with knit eyebrows and nodded. "Ah. You're one of those… body modification types then?"

"Yeah." He jumped on easily. 

"Ah. Well. Hm. Oh!" His train of thought derailed as Crowley licked up his neck. He shivered, "You're quite the rebel, aren't you?"

"Oh angel…" He traced the shell of his ear with his split tongue, "You have absolutely _no_ idea."

It was Crowley's turn to be surprised. Aziraphale shifted up to straddle his lap and suck the long, thin tongue into his mouth, grabbed at his hair. 

A mix of the surprise and the change of balance sent them both toppling to the floor. Crowley recovered easily, but the embarrassment of it hit Aziraphale, who would hardly look him in the eyes the rest of the evening and spoke in little quiet half sentences. This mood would have previously resulted in anger from the demon, taking it as judgement. Now? Crowley couldn't have found him more adorable.

The past became clearer. All those little fights? Aziraphale hardly knew how to cope with his own emotions. It seemed, as usual, the work was cut out for Crowley. This time, he was properly prepared. 

The next day, while he was out, he had an arrangement of chocolate covered cherries sent to Aziraphale.

* * *

Turns out, a demon with uneven loyalty to hell had a lot of options. Other demons would hit him with requests outside of the norm. He never provided holy water, but he was starting to cue in to a strange underground rosary market, the use of which was still beyond him. Young succubi and incubi came to him often for advice about the current human world. Demons sending them apparently had very limited knowledge of the internet. Angels occasionally visited him, with the strangest questions, none he found had any connection whatsoever. He didn't mind the work, even though it was starting to feel like more than he ever did for Hell alone. It let him start to find what he could about bringing his angel back properly.

He was careful, never asking too much of the same source. However, he was starting to feel as though everyone he spoke to had some certain assumption about him and Aziraphale regardless. 

He came into the bookshop, slumped after having to show an incubus how to use Tinder. For beings that looked young and gorgeous, they dealt with technology like great grandparents. But it was well worth it for the lead he got. Someone who knew about newly fallen angels, he'd heard.

He gave a tired smile to Aziraphale. His kind greeting gave Crowley some new energy. 

"What's wrong, my dear?"

"Just tired. Works been…" he shrugged. It wasn't something he could start to explain. 

Aziraphale surprised him a bit by hugged him tight from the back and kissing his cheek, "I'm sorry. It must be stressful with your… I'm sorry." 

Aziraphale started rubbing his back a bit, inexpertly. The sentiment warmed Crowley deeply. He shut his eyes. "Some wine, maybe? And pour yourself a glass too, angel."

Crowley smiled as he returned with a bottle and two glasses, pouring them both one. He watched his gentle hands not spill a drop. They should have done this all ages ago. He'd really have to blame Aziraphale for being so damned stubborn about everything. 

His angel handed him a glass, "So… I'm starting to feel like it must be something very important you do not to say any details on it. At all."

"Well… it can be rather sensitive at times. Certainly not something for everyone."

Aziraphale nodded and sipped his glass a bit and looked aside, "As long as you're not hiding a wife in another country from me."

"Oh, well, several across the globe really." He grinned like an utter bastard.

Aziraphale pursed his lips, then popped a bite into his mouth, "Not funny."

"No, no…" he drank his glass down and refilled it, "I really haven't seen anyone in…" Centuries, he realized. Decades since even a fling. He gave a shrug, not wanting to risk any transparency about his age. The human he would be would probably lie about it too. 

"Not your, ah, friend you lost? It seemed you were close." Crowley could tell Aziraphale was trying to ask gingerly but jealousy tinted it. 

He smiled a bit, amused, "No, in fact, not at all. We spent so long wrapped up in work, it took forever for him to understand we were even friends."

"Oh. That sounds quite frustrating."

Aziraphale took on such a tone when he was trying to be helpful. Like a guidance counselor just out of school and in the first year on the job. For the longest time Crowley thought it was just a regurgitation of lines from heaven. More and more he was just starting to think the angel was terrible at advice and encouragement. He smiled fondly. He was really one of the worst angels he knew, and because of that, really one of the best. 

"Well… I haven't really had anyone at all. In… any sense. I suppose I just haven't felt close to anyone." Aziraphale muttered, almost as though to himself. 

Crowley took his hand, "Still feel that way, angel?"

"Not for a bit now." He said quietly, face growing redder.

* * *

"Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?  
You are more lovely and-"

Aziraphale sighed and leaned back, "Really, I thought you'd know that one was trite. Try something less impersonal. And you got it wrong already, it's _Thou art_."

"I was only updating it." Crowley grumbled. As if he could keep up with every tradition kept in the English language in reflection. Maybe it would be Aziraphale's style to say _thou art_ in any context but he wasn't going to risk it. He was quite the fan of a Semi-modern appearance. 

He sighed and leaned across the picnic blanket, wracking his brain. He cupped Aziraphale's face and tried again. 

"As an unperfect actor on the stage,  
Who with his fear is all fucked on his part,  
Or something fierce with too much rage,  
Whose strength weakens his heart;  
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say  
The perfect ceremony of, er, love’s rite,  
And in my own love’s strength decay,  
Run up with burden of my own love’s might.  
O, let my books be then the eloquence,  
And mute presagers of my speaking breast;  
Who plead for love, and look for…. For recompense! That's right.  
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.  
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:  
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit."

"You've got quite the memory." Aziraphale blushed, nibbling the sandwiches he'd made for them both. 

"Really? A whole sonnet for you and that's all you have to say?"

"I'm certain Shakespeare never said 'all… effed up.' He muttered, giving an embarrassed hand wave at the cursing, "And you don't have me swooning just because that mentioned books."

"Yeah?" Crowley grinned into his glass, like he was sharing a joke with the Bard that Aziraphale wasn't in on, "What've you got then?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Well, I can do the beginning of Canterbury Tales in it's original middle English."

Crowley groaned, "Spare me. I'd rather be drowned in the lake right now."

"Fine then." Aziraphale looked up, in what was supposed to be a seductive manner. It was all Crowley could do to not start laughing. It was like a cat in a sweater. It was cute, sure, and you liked it, but mostly because it was so against the natural way of things. 

"Farewell happy fields  
Where joy forever dwells: Hail horrors, hail  
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell  
Receive thy new possessor: One who brings  
A mind not to be changed by place or time.  
The mind is its own place, and in itself  
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a smile. He knew he was a sucker for Milton. He couldn't read his reaction and sighed, reaching up to grab his glasses off. 

He was attacked before he could even see. Crowley had pinned his wrists down and was kissing him deep and needy, tongue sliding in and hands roaming up and down his shoulders, then his chest. Aziraphale made a weak noise as his neck started receiving blistering attention. He squirmed after a moment, just getting out, "Decency!"

Crowley paused and growled out, "That really wasn't fair, angel." Before pulling up. 

Aziraphale blushed, dusting himself off and taking a drink, "I truly didn't expect _that_ strong a reaction to some poetry…"

"Words are powerful." He shrugged, still composing himself. How did he still know so well what made Crowley tick? How could he say such filthy things to him without even knowing? Hearing praise of Hell fall from an angels mouth was titillating, despite his own opinions on it. 

"Sometimes I wonder if you stalked different librarians and book sellers until one agreed to dinner with you."

"I promise, darling, I wouldn't dream of another store but yours. Something drew me to it." He said, padding everything on a bit. 

Aziraphale smiled warmly and pulled him close. Crowley tolerated it, secretly delighting as Aziraphale started carding through his hair. He hummed softly, "Do you believe in God?"

Crowley dwelt on it for a good bit. A simple yes wouldn't really capture it. He gave a shrug, "Yeah. Not quite the whole… Well, let's just say God's out there and has got to be a real bastard. Playing all the cards close to the chest."

Aziraphale laughed a bit, "I'd say I agree with that."

Crowley walked him back to the bookstore after a bit. He couldn't believe he'd gone millennia without holding Aziraphale's hand at every opportunity. It felt right, like a place was worn in just for him. 

He returned after a few minutes to the same park and found a comfortable bench. But certainly not any one he'd sit at with Aziraphale. He traveled a good bit for work, yes, but on good occasion he'd find the most interesting things right in London. 

He rolled his eyes as a tall, dark haired woman strode up and sat by him, crossing her legs in a manner to let her dress slide up. "You know." He leaned back, spreading his legs a bit, "That's not going to work on me, and you're going to get in trouble being so visible. Humans aren't the only eyes you'll catch."

"I've already suffered my punishments." She shrugged, "It's a force of habit, you'll excuse me."

"Chantinelle, is it?"

"Yes. Your reputation preceeds you, Master Crawly."

"Crowley. Crouuuwley." He shook his head, "Like I'd want to walk around all day being creepy crawly." 

She looked at him, waiting for him to arrive at another point.

"So you know about business with angels, eh?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"I know they're more trouble than they're worth." She gave a sad smile, "But you've passed that mark long ago. And I know their side is far quicker and crueler to punish. Really makes you remember how much we're the same stock, huh? You're very lucky they didn't kill him entirely."

"Don't need to tell me. But he… he's all… human." He frowned, "And he doesn't remember me at all. The humanity I don't mind, not that much, and there's loads I can do about him growing old, but…"

She took his hand gently, "But you miss your friend." 

He nodded a bit, "Yeah."

"He's only going to break your heart, you know."

"Of course I know, he's been doing it almost periodically for the last few hundred years." He grit his teeth. Even if a succubus couldn't do much to tempt you, they sure knew how to pull you into an air of security and comfort. He pulled his hand back, giving her a dirty look. 

She pulled back, "I'm only trying to help."

"Not the help I came to you for." He snapped. 

Chantinelle gave a small nod, "You're going to be disappointed in what I have to offer. And I've looked and looked for any solution with angels, believe me. There's no way an angel can just run away peacefully. If you want him to remember the past, he's going to be restored. Humans really aren't built for aeons of cosmic knowledge."

"Well then how can I do that? We'll just… hide him from heaven."

"Like I said, you can't just run away peacefully. If you want him back, he's going to have to come back through the power of another faction."

"You're not implying what I think."

"There's only one other as powerful."

Crowley spent a minute thinking, then shook his head, "I told you in the email that's not a possibility I even want talked about."

"You know as well as most. What else is there for a fallen angel but Hell?"

Crowley could think of a lot of things. Walks in the park holding hands, the smell of old books, the taste of fresh fruit, warm scarves in the winter. All those things were for Aziraphale. Hell was not. 

He stood, shaking his head, "Alright. Thank you for your time, Chantinelle, but you've given me nothing."

"You're so polite for a demon."

"Fuck off." He spat, baring fangs a bit.

"Hm. I know overcompensating when I see it." She leaned back on the bench, looking content to stay for a minute. She looked at him serious and level, "But Crowley...A lot of us admire what you're doing. On both sides. No one's been so brave in a very, very long while."

He was already walking home, thoughts racing.

* * *

Several days later, the bell rang, and Aziraphale, well trained at this point, perked up, "Crowley! I've missed you, dear."

Crowley had a hard time coming back. He was resolute not to until he had his next lead. It was absolutely insulting to imagine Aziraphale in Hell. Seeing him now, and with hope sparking, Crowley couldn't help but smile, tossing his glasses down, "How's my worm?"

Aziraphale blinked and frowned, "...worm?"

"...Bookworm. It's a pet name, it's cute." He wrapped his arms around his side, which Aziraphale received despite his continued trepidation. Crowley was getting more and more used to this touching business. 

"It's insulting! Worms are-"

"Cute and pink?" He kissed his cheek. 

"I told you the sun was too bright for a walk, if I'm pink, it's your fault." He huffed, "Worms are slimy."

"Like ssssnakes?" He flicked his tongue with a hiss. Aziraphale laughed a bit despite himself. 

"No, no, I think I'm a bit fond of snakes." He turned to him, looking at his eyes with a sweet smile. 

"Don't think they're too ssssslimy?" He grinned, then flicked his tongue against Aziraphale's jaw. 

"Stop it!" He laughed, wiggling in his arms a bit. 

"Ssstop it? Why ssssshould I?" He smiled, then kissed him. Aziraphale pulled him closer then, just as fond of the touching as of him. Still, he broke away first. 

"You know…" Crowley muttered in his ear, "My tongue is particularly skilled. Can do a lot of weird things."

"Crowley!" He blushed and pulled back, "So lewd. Come on, I have something I want to show you." 

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"Not like that." He blushed, "It's in a book, well, a manuscript."

He pulled out some gloves, but Crowley kept it in good condition anyways. He realized pretty quickly the effort Aziraphale was putting into the shop and had to exert it himself. What sort of friend would he be if he didn't?

Aziraphale grinned, "This was… such a find. A rare sect of monks which specialized in demonology. This is from the 12th century." He opened a page, then pointed to the corner with a cheeky grin. 

Ah, that's right. The Cult of Saint Quintus. Crowley only spent about 20 years living in their basement and drinking their wine. It was a pretty good set up. He smiled a little at the memory. 

"Oh come on!" Aziraphale was excited, "It looks just like you! Even has archaic little glasses!"

"Well the hairs different." He shrugged, not knowing how to keep this one measured right. If he overstepped, he could reveal himself as a demon. Or at least come off insane.

He could tell at once how disappointed Aziraphale was. His friend was clearly expecting a lot more of a reaction. He sighed. There really couldn't be a harm. He kissed his cheek, "I'm kidding, it's a near perfect image. Look! They're even bringing him wine bottles. Seems I've got a lucky ancestor here. Any clue who he is?"

"Well, certainly not an ancestor. Implies pretty heavily that this handsome bloke is a demon. But I just can't seem to read it right, it's in some kind of cypher code. I'm having a specialist come look at it later this week, if you'd like to know."

"Hm…" he scrambled a few letters of it, making certain no Crowley, Crowlee, Crawly, Crawley or otherwise would appear. "I'd love to, but actually, I came by to say, I'm going to be out for some time."

Aziraphale looked up with sad eyes, and it was all Crowley could do not to kiss his face. "How long? I missed you so much this week…"

"Well, let's break into a bottle and we can talk more."

Aziraphale nodded, putting the book up. Crowley held up a bottle Aziraphale hadn't seen him bring in, but he must have had it hidden just so. 

He opened it, relaxing a little as Aziraphale rubbed his back gently. He was furious at himself sometimes, at them both for going so long without putting their hands on each other.

Aziraphale waited until they'd both had a few drinks to ask, "How long?"

Crowley shifted, "I don't know." He really didn't. There was no telling how the time he experienced would even relate to a human scale. Suddenly the prospect hit him. He could lose years of this Aziraphale, and it would really actually start to count. He leaned his head on the human's shoulder, "It could be a long time."

"Is it dangerous?" He asked, then tensed, "Sorry I know you can't talk about it much, but…"

"It might not be. I might be home quick. But…" he thought about it. He'd slept through an entire century before. And it was a good one, loads of sin. What if he was gone too long and Aziraphale... He found his voice breaking, "I might not… be… back."

Aziraphale finished his glass off in three chugs, then shivered a bit, surely feeling it hit his stomach heavily, "Then don't go."

"Pardon?"

"Don't go. Stay here with me. Please, Crowley." He moved to look in his eyes, "Don't leave me."

Oh, this was one of the biggest mistakes Crowley had ever made. And he'd done some big ones. He shook his head, "Pieces are already in motion. I can't not do this. Don't make it harder, angel, please."

Aziraphale pulled him close and kissed him. Crowley pulled him closer, trying to drink in every inch of him. He pulled back, sliding his hands up his shirt, "Really, this could be something very quick and easy, don't worry yourself over me."

"You couldn't stop me." Aziraphale shifted into his lap, "Crowley, I… I'm going to miss you terribly. Is there any way I can write?"

Crowley shook his head, then cupped his face, "Will you say a prayer for me every night?"

"I thought you didn't quite believe in that kind of stuff." Aziraphale turned his head to kiss his hand. 

"It can't hurt."

"Of course I will." He kissed his wrist gently. 

Crowley looked at him with wide, fond eyes. Never would he dream of Aziraphale asking him to stay. Maybe he just should. But there was something eating at him from time to time he couldn't ignore. Something about leaving behind old parts of Aziraphale, especially given what new ones were offered, felt right by his friend. He owed him an honest try. 

A few words sat on the tip of his tongue. But by now he'd learned not to overwhelm Aziraphale. He needed to always move at his pace.

He scooped Aziraphale closer and kissed him more. They continued on, only tender touches and desperate kisses until Aziraphale fell asleep on the floor with Crowley in his arms. When he woke up, he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a little sad there, but I promise, that isn't going to keep as the tone. Next chapter, they're going to the beach. 
> 
> Rating may also bump to mature. Still can't decide if they're going to bone or not. 
> 
> Also, was wracking my brain for a sympathetic demon and couldn't help but draw from some Hellblazer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one is extremely fluffy and sappy and tender. Enjoy. I fuckin love these two.

It had been over eighty days, best Crowley could guess. Because he had felt ninety odd little gnats of prayer hit him over the course of his capture. A voice in the back of his head said maybe more time had passed. Maybe eighty days was what it took for Aziraphale to move on. But he just couldn't believe that. The angel, well, human, was nothing if not dedicated. 

It was a trap. Of course it was a trap. It was all too good, and the hope blinded him. The only kindness is that he was being held by angels. At least angels didn't take a particular glee in torture. A few even came by to compliment him on Good Deeds over the years and particularly more recent advances. He spat in their face.

No, these angels were far from holy. They were using him as a bartering chip against demons. He tried to get more information than that, hoping he could talk his way out of this. And Aziraphale fell for what, liking earth too much? It was all so ridiculous. He'd said as much to the angel usually assigned to guard him, several times over. 

"I'm not in that business, it's not my business." Was his gruff response most times. 

If anything more demonic was his business, he might know that Crowley was technically venomous. And if he paid a bit more attention, he'd see that the venom of demons in particular was corrosive against heavenly bonds. Particularly the section Crowley was always leaning against, was slowly being melted away. 

Falling or vaguely sauntering, both ways out of heaven are a lot quicker than a more careful escape, the kind Crowley made to be certain he didn't tumble back into Hell. He wasn't quite sure how welcomed he'd be there and he wasn't looking to find out. By the time he'd navigated back to Earth, he was exhausted. He wanted desperately to find a cave or old house or something and rest, but he couldn't, not yet. 

Aziraphale was fairly drunk. He flipped through _The Nightingale and the Rose_ lazily. He gave a yawn and took another slow swig, then closed the book and his eyes, "Hmm… our Father who art-"

There was a whistling noise, a loud thump, and the ringing of the bell in the front room. Aziraphale frowned, getting up with no urgency. The door was locked tight. It was likely just the cat knocking over a few books. He strolled in slowly. It took him a minute to piece together what he was seeing. 

Crowley stood there, with some large open black coat. It arched up behind him like wings. Or were they wings? He looked exhausted, his eyes a little haunted and his hands shaking. There was a sleek gleam to his skin that didn't seem right. Aziraphale rubbed his eyes a bit, unsure if he was awake or dreaming. 

"Zir'Fell…" Crowley stumbled forward. His weird coat fell behind him but didn't seem to hit the ground. 

Aziraphale was shaken out of his stupor. He ran forward, wrapping his arms around him. "Crowley!"

Crowley hugged him back, still trembling slightly. Aziraphale pulled back and pressed their lips together. It was more of an uneven mashing, but Crowley didn't mind that. He had his angel. Nearly. He returned the kiss, then smiled, "You're drunk, angel."

"Sorry. I wasn'specting you." He took Crowley's hand, "Are y'alright? You're... shaking like a leaf."

What could he say? Heaven was draining for him to be stuck in, and finding his way home was exhausting. He nodded a bit, "Pour me a glass and we can sit?"

Aziraphale nodded, leading him to the back room. "Did it go well?" 

"Hm?"

"The… mission? Er… whatever you…"

Crowley grabbed the bottle and drank from it, looking like he was trying to hold back tears, "No. No. Not at all." 

"D'you wanna…"

He shook his head. Aziraphale set a glass by him and sat close, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. 

"I hate… I hate losing time with you. All I could think about was… what if I came back and you…"

"Shh." Aziraphale nuzzled his hand, "Don't think that. I'm yours."

"I promise, angel, I promise…" Crowley muttered, not letting himself finish. He would get Aziraphale back. He would restore the angel, he just needed to figure this out. He wasn't used to working alone. Even in the peripheral, he knew that Aziraphale could help him out. But not with this. He had to do this for him and he had to do it alone.

"Shhhh… I'm here. You're here." Aziraphale leaned up and kissed him gently. He let Crowley have a good drink and calm down. He brought him upstairs to the couch and laid him down despite weak protests, wrapping him in a blanket that smelled of mothballs. The worn down demon was out quick. 

Crowley woke to a ragged orange cat sniffing at his face. He hissed at it. It smacked him on the nose, not even letting out it's claws. Then it walked down by his feet and knead at the blanket there. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"Ah, you're up." Aziraphale squatted by him, placing a cup of coffee on the table by him, gesturing to let him know it was his. 

"What's this?" 

Aziraphale held up the cat for inspection, "His name's Marc."

"Mark?" Crowley frowned, "He's a cat, not a footballer."

Aziraphale wiggled him a bit, "Like Marc Antony."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

"Because, well… I'm Anthony. And you're Anthony. So…"

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment. No, being human hadn't changed him one bit. He managed to be every inch as ridiculous and insufferable. It was stupid. Mr. Fell wasn't even Anthony, not really, that was just Crowley. He sat up, "So the cat is Anthony too?"

It gave a little mewl and Aziraphale set it down. The little beast padded over and sniffed Crowley, then wove around his legs. Aziraphale smiled, "Antony. Yes. And look, he likes you!"

"Er. Right. So did you buy this th- kitten?"

"No." Aziraphale smiled fondly, "I found him outside in the rain. Took him into the veterinary and put up posters, but it seemed he didn't have an owner. He keeps the mice from nibbling at the books."

Crowley nodded. Some part of him didn't believe that Aziraphale looked too hard for an owner. 

Aziraphale rubbed his arm, "I've missed you so much. Do you want to… maybe talk about…"

"It's not something you should have to hear, angel." He hugged him, trying not to kick the blessed cat. 

"Please don't leave me again." Aziraphale said quietly, "That's selfish, and I know you have no control, but… I missed you terribly. I prayed for you every night and every morning."

Crowley slumped in relief. It had only been forty two days. He kissed Aziraphale's temple, "I won't leave you that long again if I can help it." He pulled back and cupped his face, "How have you been?"

"Lonely." Aziraphale sighed, "Marc helped some, I suppose. I've found some more neat artifacts, I'd love to show you later, but I don't know if you need to tidy yourself up."

No, Crowley thought, I just want to stay here with you and not let you out of my eyesight for a second. I missed the way your blessed books smelled and I missed your stupid outfits. But he worried that was a polite hint that he needed tidying up. He gave a nod, drinking the coffee in a few gulps, "I ssssupposse so." 

"But I want to see you back here soon." Aziraphale said. Always demanding, his angel. He smiled and followed him down to the entrance. He'd gotten a bit surprised when Aziraphale kissed his mouth gently before sending him out. Centuries of nothing like that made him forget this new aspect. But it was a pleasant little reminder.

* * *

Not a day went by that week that Crowley didn't spend every appropriate minute with him. He'd leave at night, like someone who needed sleep. It was well enough, he started trading with various angels and demons again in what they needed. But only previously popular customers. He needed to be more careful. He rushed in and risked a lot with his last hopeful little quest. 

Now, he sat with Aziraphale on the park bench. The angel had finished his ice cream, and when Crowley pecked his lips, they tasted like vanilla. His arm was thrown around him, pulled comfortably close. Aziraphale didn't notice at all, attention bouncing between the ducks and Crowley, but something in Crowley's face scared off anyone who'd think to give a rude tut. 

Crowley hummed, "I've got one."

Aziraphale looked over and reached to pull his sunglasses off. Crowley pulled his head away, "Quit that, it's actually bright out here.

"Go on then." Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley cleared his throat.

"A moment of happiness,  
You and I sitting on the veranda,  
Apparently two, but one in soul, you and I."

Aziraphale leaned his head on Crowley's shoulder. He smelled his hair a bit. It was vanilla too, somehow. 

"We feel the flowing water of life here,  
You and I, with the Garden's beauty  
And birds singing.  
The stars will watch us,  
And we will show them what it is  
To be a thin crescent moon.  
You-"

"Crawly!" "Yes that's him!" Two demons rushed up to him. 

Crowley jumped up, placing himself between them and Aziraphale, pulling a knife out of his snakeskin boot. It wouldn't do too much to a demon, but it would surely slow them down. 

One of them put her hands up defensively. She inhabited a body that looked about thirty, and very fit. Probably some kind of CrossFit instructor. That boom was excelling in Pride these days. "Hey, no! Sorry!"

Crowley frowned and lowered the knife. 

"We're just fans is all." The other said, an older man. He probably guessed he was passing as an elderly parent of hers. 

Crowley leaned back, "Fans?"

"We like what you're doing out here is all. I mean really, no one's seen anything like it before. Words getting around." She smiled, offering her hand, "Rahab."

He shook it, nervously, "Well, I do appreciate it, but I'm trying to enjoy-"

"Is that...?" She leaned over his shoulder a bit to peer at Aziraphale, who was looking completely concerned. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, unsure if he'd do any good in a fight or if that was what was at hand. 

Crowley put a hand on her shoulder, "Not your business, really. It's complicated at the time."

"Were you really up in heaven last week trying to bargain for him?" The other demon asked in a hushed voice. 

Crowley grit his teeth. They needed to leave _now_ before Aziraphale started asking any questions or heard too much. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out an amber rosary, something with a bit of Eastern European flair. He pressed it into Rahab's hand, hoping it would accomplish something. "Really, now isn't the best time, but it was nice to meet you both, thank you, ta."

She looked at the rosary and pocketed it with a blush and a giggle, shuffling off with her companion. 

Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, "Right, we, where we we?"

"Do you always carry a knife?" He gave Crowley a look of Judgement. 

"Can't be too careful." He sat down again. 

"Who were they? Besides … fans?" He seemed completely baffled. 

"Old friends really." He tried, "Kind of coworkers. Lower division of course."

"....are you M19?"

"Something like it. Really, not the kind of thing to discuss." Crowley shifted, "Oh yes! A thin crescent moon."

"I never understood what that part meant…" Aziraphale leaned back on him. 

"I've a few ideas." Crowley buried his face in his hair.

* * *

Aziraphale seemed in a bit of a quiet mood. Crowley had hardly gotten a hello when he came in. Well, from Aziraphale. Marc chattered and yowled at him until he stooped to pet him for a bit. After the cat finally let him stop, Aziraphale spoke up. 

"Do you think I'm pudgy?"

Crowley blinked in confusion. "Do I think you're pudgy?"

"That's what I asked." He looked down sadly. 

Crowley came over and rubbed his shoulders, kissing his neck, "What brought this on?"

"You're avoiding the question. You think so."

"Well maybe you're no twig but it's certainly not a bad thing. Honestly angel, what's the matter?"

"Some teenagers came in the shop earlier." He sighed, "They called me an old queen too but I don't disagree with that as much."

Crowley tensed, "Recently? Could you tell me what they looked like?"

That got a soft laugh from Aziraphale, "Easy, dear, I don't want them dead, I'm just… a little sensitive today I suppose."

Crowley hummed, pinching his love handles, "I like your body just fine. You're healthy." He rubbed his sides, "Cherubic." 

His old Aziraphale would get incredibly indignant about that. He was a principality, _not_ a cherub. The distinction was important, even if principalities were a joke oftentimes. Crowley nosed his neck and ventured down, squeezing at his cheeks, "But not pudgy."

"Oh! Heavens! Crowley!"

He goosed him again, "No, no I certainly don't think so."

"Stop it!" He giggled playfully. 

Crowley pulled away to look him over with loving eyes, "Yes, you're perfect, I'm certain of it."

Aziraphale smiled and wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck. Crowley held him around the waist. Sometimes it was just nice to have him as a friend. Especially without all the pressure of their conflicting sides on them both. If Crowley had to shoulder a bit more for him, so be it.

* * *

"Crowley?" Aziraphale hummed from his chair, flipping through a book. 

Crowley startled and jerked up a bit, having half fallen asleep, Marc already dozing in his lap, "Yeah?"

"If you were a twelve thousand year old demon masquerading as a human, you would tell me, right?"

"Course."

"Alright."

Crowley pet Marc a bit, leaning back. He didn't look twelve thousand, did he? Maybe he needed to read a few fashion magazines again, make sure he wasn't falling behind.

* * *

Crowley strode it. It had been a long day full of traffic, smog, and tired city people. He knew precisely when he needed a little rest and relaxation, and once he was sure, he wasn't one to hesitate. He flopped his top half on the counter with a grin, "Close up shop."

"Yes, alright." Aziraphale looked up, "But I must inform you, I've lost the wine key."

"Nope. We're not sitting here in the musk-" ''Musk?" "Musk! No. We're going to the beach."

"Crowley, it's late, by the time we get there it'll nearly be nighttime."

"Yeah and? It's better that way. We get to watch the sunset, you don't get burned, there's less screaming children."

"Well… but what about… er… other less than pleasant characters. They may be around."

"I know a place. C'mon, it'll be fun." He bit his lip, "Please?"

"Oh… how can I refuse you." He smiled and kissed Crowley's cheek, "I'll get my things."

A good hour later, Crowley was lounged out in the sand. A serpent at heart, he enjoyed shimmering down just a bit into the warmth of it. He closed his eyes, just sunning himself in the last glows of daytime. 

Aziraphale came over in a bathing suit that Crowley was certain the beach hadn't seen in at least sixty years. It was a full body worsted woolen number. Broad blue and white horizontal stripes went down it, giving half the inspiration of an old sailors uniform. Crowley didn't think he could imagine Aziraphale in anything else. He smiled from his spot in the sand. 

"You know we have chairs?" Aziraphale sat in one. 

"Ah, I like it down here." He shifted a bit, burying himself a small bit deeper.

"You really are something, Crowley." He smiled, gazing out as the sun started to touch the waters edge. 

After a bit of lazing, Aziraphale went and started trying to skip stones against the tide. He wasn't doing very well. Crowley watched for a bit before coming up to join him, taking every opportunity to touch his arms, "No, no, you've got to flick it out like this."

He gave a small boost to Aziraphale's next throw, which didn't stop skipping until it hit a freight ship off the edge of Iceland, but Aziraphale didn't see that far out. 

Crowley eventually went out to the water to cool off, sliding in happily. His swimwear was a few days old, and looked a great deal more modern. It was black, not quite skimpy but a tighter pair of shorts. Aziraphale had stared at his chest at first, but his only comment was he expected more tattoos, or "perhaps hidden piercings." Crowley couldn't say he disliked the idea. 

Aziraphale eventually swam out with him, seemingly just to take his hand as the sun set down. Crowley leaned over as the last arcs of the sphere dripped down into the water, "Make a wish, angel."

"What more could I possibly ask for?"

"You're a sap, just make a wish." He snaked his arms around him. 

Aziraphale smiled, turned and kissed him slowly. After a moment, he pulled back with a devilish smile and splashed him. 

"Hey!" Crowley splashed him back. 

They laughed and swatted at one another for a bit. Eventually they swam out to a small sandbar. Aziraphale was completely impressed by how long Crowley could hold his breath. He figured he must swim for exercise often. There was a bit more lean muscle on him than Aziraphale'd initially accounted for. 

Crowley popped up after a bit with a shining white shell, offering it to Aziraphale, who took it and held it to his chest like a prized possession. 

Eventually, night fell heavy on them. 

"It's looking bad out, we should probably head in." Aziraphale started paddling back to shore. The waved picked up some around him. 

Crowley gave a look out to the horizon with a tender sigh. He loved the night so much. As he tried to drink it in, a higher wave crashed over him, sending him spinning underwater. He resurfaced unhappily and shook. He started heading back, then froze. 

"Crowley, please, I think I heard thunder!" Aziraphale was putting their things away at the shore. 

"Just a minute, angel." He looked around frantically. 

Rain started sweeping across the beach. Aziraphale frowned, "Really, I think-" he stopped, spotting the small bit of black fabric washing up at the shore. He laughed and picked it up with two fingers holding it up, "Crowley!"

"Bring it here!" He made grabbing hands for it. 

Aziraphale tried to toss it out, but the wind blew it right back at him. He blushed and swam out to Crowley. 

"No peeking." He grumbled.

Aziraphale tried not to let his eyes stray, but caught a bit of movement as another wave came in. He startled, "Is that an eel?!"

"I said no peeking!" Crowley snatched the suit from his hands.

Aziraphale covered his hands with his eyes and turned away.

Crowley laughed, "Head back to shore, angel, I'll be there soon."

They gathered everything up quickly once ashore, heading towards the car. Aziraphale hesitated at the door, shifting his weight between feet, almost impatiently. Crowley blinked, "It's not locked."

"Well, I don't want to ruin your interior by getting it wet." Aziraphale hesitated, as though standing in the light rain would help any.

Crowley rolled his eyes. He grabbed a towel and scruffled it on Aziraphale's head, miracling him dryer, "You're hardly damp, see?"

Aziraphale gave a bit of a confused look, but got in the Bentley regardless. 

The drive back was shorter, much less traffic. But Aziraphale was a little surprised when Crowley pulled up and got out at a seemingly random spot. He hopped out of the car, "Er, Crowley? Sorry, You seem to have forgotten…"

"Oh! Shit! Right, sorry, I just…" he frowned a bit, "Ah, why don't you just stay the night?"

Aziraphale shifted, "Well…"

"No! Nothing like that. I'll stay on the couch if you want."

"I wouldn't want to put you out…"

"You'd do that more by making me drive you back, c'mon." 

"Well… I suppose so."

It was just what he'd think Crowley's apartment would be like. It was sleek, clean, stylish. But he didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable there. He yawned and stretched, "Can I borrow some clothes to sleep in?"

"Yeah," Crowley rummaged through an empty drawer, coming up with some warm, sensible ones, "I've got something I think will suit you, here." 

Aziraphale smiled, seeming to know they were just for him before going to the bathroom to change. 

Crowley picked up his mister and started making his rounds, "You little shits, do you call this growing? Pathetic, each and every one of you…"

"I'll take the couch, Crowley, really I…. My… those are some of the most gorgeous plants I've seen… are they real?" He touched a leaf curiously. 

"Hey! They know they can do better." He spritzed them, "They're going to become mulch if they so much as yellow."

"Er. Yes. Right. So…"

Crowley set the mister down and moved away from them to Aziraphale. He couldn't risk them seeing him soft. Aziraphale followed him to the living room, worrying his lip a bit, "Crowley I… suppose if you wouldn't mind, perhaps we could share the bed?"

"...I think that sounds just fine." He smiled. 

Crowley laid like he was in a coffin. He actually spent about thirty years in one once, scared the heaven out of a few poor souls. He didn't want to overstep. Aziraphale laid equally still by him for some time. Eventually, he felt warm arms loop around him. Aziraphale nuzzled a bit into his back, then tensed and muttered, "Is this alright?"

Crowley just nodded, touched. After a moment he pressed back into his arms and said, "Sweet dreams angel."

Crowley didn't as much sleep that night as go into a sort of meditative calm state. Aziraphale held him close most the night, but eventually tossed and turned around. Crowley found himself laying cozy under the covers, watching him sleep. He considered dipping a toe into his dreams, but worried his influence might cause a nightmare. 

He thought for a long time, lying there. About what they'd been through together, the things they'd seen, the aeons stretching behind them as friends, enemies and now…

And now Crowley got to watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Nothing worried his angel, not a thing Crowley couldn't take care of somehow. He could keep fighting for his memories and he wanted to badly. But no part of him wanted to go another night alone. Nothing could make him risk losing any of this. 

When sunlight grazed in through the windows and Aziraphale slowly woke up, blinking at him, a smile coming across his face as he remembered where he was. He gave a stretching yawn and pulled Crowley in for a gentle peck. 

Crowley smiled. His mind was made up. He pressed their foreheads together, "I love you, angel."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! Alright this chapter is a bit of a roller coaster but I promise it's worth it. Thanks for your kudos and comments.

"Oh." Aziraphale blinked, "Well. Do you?"

Crowley frowned, "Yes, I do!"

"No, yes, well, of course you do else you wouldn't have said it. So. Er." 

"Forget it." He put on a smile. It wasn't unusual for him to put himself before Aziraphale and be shot down. He pulled back, "Just… I'll make you breakfast."

"It's not that I don't! I think! I just… I just want to be certain before I run around saying-"

"Seriously, angel, don't worry about it."

He nodded, "I'll just have coffee. I really should get back to the shop, I have-"

"Don't add insult." He snapped.

"Not customers, no, someone is coming by with some 14th century manuscripts. If you'd like to join me…"

"I'd rather die." He grumbled. 

Aziraphale didn't understand the genesis of this comment, and didn't ask, going quiet. 

Crowley shifted, "I'll just drive you back. Unless you'd rather me just get you a cab."

Aziraphale walked over and took his hand gently, "Crowley, I care about you immensely. You're very important to me, I only don't want to say those words without being entirely certain."

They didn't talk much again until they were already in the car headed back. Aziraphale hugged himself a bit and muttered, "There's just so much I don't know about you. I want to trust you with my heart but all I can think is if you disappear… I don't know if I'll be able to recover."

Crowley parked in front of the shop, "I quit. Kind of."

"...kind of?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm still… I'm still going to have some interactions but I'm not leaving again. Not ever."

"I don't even know where you work, you won't tell me…" he shook his head. 

"I know, I know, but I'd rather not tell you than lie. But I'm done with it. For you." He took his hand, "You don't have to say anything you don't mean, but angel, I'd hang up the stars for you. Just ask."

Aziraphale gave a small nod, then leaned over and kissed his cheek, "Come by tonight?"

Crowley nodded. He didn't trust his voice too much. He left the shop and drove in circles, recklessly, apathetically inspiring spite in other drivers. It didn't feel much good. Or much bad. 

What could he say? Yes, sorry for not being transparent earlier. I'm actually a demon from the nine circles of hell. Why do I love you? Oh, because you used to be an angel and I spent six thousand years falling in love with you. All you remember, all that's just the icing on the cake. 

No, there was no way he could tell him he was an angel. He didn't know how secure Aziraphale felt in his choices regarding the apocalypse that didn't happen. He seemed pleased, but maybe that would change given the more recent outcomes. The angel wasn't always completely selfless. 

Could a human love a demon? There were countless examples of lust, but that wasn't at all what he was dealing with here. Would Aziraphale accept him? He'd already asked partially. Maybe he just wouldn't mind. 

Crowley found himself winding back to the bookstore after eight. He decided he would have to tell Aziraphale the truth, or at least part of it, being who Crowley was. 

But Aziraphale didn't ask. He instead opened a bottle of wine as soon as Crowley came in. He chattered on a bit about the new books, insisting Crowley would absolutely need to look at them sometime. Crowley politely agreed, but Aziraphale didn't seem to push it much. 

After the bottle was gone, Aziraphale sat up with purpose, moving so they were face to face. Crowley felt tense as Aziraphale spoke, "I-"

"Don't say it because you feel like you have to. Really, we can just-"

Aziraphale gave a frustrated look, "Crowley! Shut up and listen to me. I've done some thinking. And I'm sure, I'm absolutely sure I love you more than anything."

Crowley pulled his glasses off. He knew his angel liked to see his eyes. Normally it left him feeling vulnerable, but it was nothing compared to all other vulnerabilities right now. 

"I love you. I don't think I'll ever understand you, but I just don't need to." He took his hand, "And I… if you'll have me, would like to make love with you."

Crowley could have melted into a puddle. He grabbed for his glasses again out of habit, but let them fall to the ground instead. He shook his head, "Angel, really, you don't need to at all I'm just as happy…"

"I mean, if you'd like to." He stepped closer, "Because giving you myself isn't hard. I think I've already done it. You're the single most important thing in my life." He smiled, "More than my books even."

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to get married first?" Crowley blurted out. A good few hundred years of risking someone getting stoned to death if you didn't provide a dowry beforehand left an imprint. 

Aziraphale clasped a hand over his mouth, blushing furiously. He muttered over his fingers, "Now is that your idea of a proposal?"

"Do you want me to propose?" Crowley stepped back. 

Aziraphale grabbed his arms before he could even try, keeping him up. "Crowley! I… I'm… flattered and…"

Crowley grimaced. He'd scared the flighty angel off again. Aziraphale dampened that idea with a kiss.

"I just don't see the point is all." He looked him over, "Not just yet anyways. My heart, my soul, all I am, I'm giving it to you, Crowley. I promise my whole self to you. I love you."

If Crowley wasn't completely enamored at the moment, he would have noticed the small changes. A crackle in the air, a scent not quite like burning, but more the gentle smoke of a candle being snuffed out, and clouds gathering overhead to send rain down. 

He didn't pay notice to any of that, nor did he notice the way Aziraphale's skin was warmer under his touch. He chalked that up to plenty of things. 

Aziraphale led him upstairs, muttering nervously about books he'd read and matters of preparation, assumptions he'd made. Crowley would have stopped him from talking if he could get himself together a bit more. 

They stood in the bedroom, just staring at one another for a few moments. Crowley thought the little ways Aziraphale's skin was rippling were just nervousness. Aziraphale attributed the headache and backache to nervousness and wine. 

Forty minutes later, Crowley laid with his head on Aziraphale's chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was all a little fumbling and excited, but Crowley made sure to be slow and tender with him. He'd never enjoyed it more. Aziraphale stroked his hair in sated, blissful silence. After a bit, his touches stopped. Crowley heard his heart go slower and slower, until it seemed to stop. There was a rustling above him, and a small flash of light. 

He pulled back in confusion. 

Aziraphale pulled the blanket up around his chest, looking baffled. There was a bit of strength in his face that had been absent for a time. But more importantly, the bones and tendons of bare, healing wings bunched up behind his back. He moved a bit away, covering his nudity more, "Crowley??"

Crowley felt like ice had been thrown over him. His chest hurt, and he suddenly felt, even though he never once had before, like he was going to puke. He muttered a quick, "I'm sorry angel." And ran to the bathroom, locking the door.

He curled up, hearing insistent knocking on the other side. He couldn't take it. Aziraphale had fallen and it was all his fault. He vanished, willing himself to be anywhere but there.

Aziraphale got the door open finally, finding not so much as a cracked window, only a single black feather on the bathroom floor.

* * *

"Necesse enim opera atque adduce huc." Aziraphale muttered, lighting the last candle. He'd had to place Marc in another room, the cat insistent on sitting on the spell tome.

A very confused and extremely displeased demon stood in the center of the circle. He glowered, candles light burning higher, "Who now has brought forth the power of- Aziraphale?! Did you just summon me?!"

Aziraphale sat in his armchair, looking indignant, "You weren't answering your phone. I left messages. You're being extremely childish."

"I… I'm sorry, I just… I can't…" he spread his wings, then frowned, "Am I trapped here? Get rid of this circle!"

"You really should have taken a look at those manuscripts I got in." Aziraphale drank from his glass, crossing his legs, "Interesting information about the demon Crowley, and the summoning of for deeds."

"Worst fucking century this entire planet has-"

"Crowley. I've given you a few days. It's long past time we talked."

Crowley pulled his wings in, minding the flames, and sat, holding his head in his hands, not able to even look at him for the conversation, "So what d'you remember?"

"Everything. Back to the garden and up to the night you-"

"I'm so sorry." 

"You should be."

The harshness hit Crowley hard. He wanted to die on the spot. Holy water would be more merciful. "I just… you didn't remember me and then you kissed me first! You… I just couldn't stop, an-Aziraphale, at first it was just the same but a bit more kissing and I tried so hard to get you back! That's where I was and why I left I was just trying to get you your wings back, I never wanted to hurt you-"

"No, you hurt me unimaginably, Crowley!" Aziraphale snapped. 

"I didn't think you would fall." He choked out, "I didn't mean to… to violate you and I… I'm so sorry, I was weak and…"

"Do you think I'm mad at you for having sex with me?" He snapped.

"....what?"

"I'm mad because you took me for a ride!"

"What?"

"We shared everything together and you ran off!" 

"Zira…"

"I gave my whole self to you and as soon as you got what you wanted you flew away and didn't answer any of my calls!" He spoke with righteous anger.

"How the h- how could I face you when I made you fall from heaven?" He choked out, tears creeping down his face, "You're the best angel, better than every single one of them and now you're a rotten demon and it's all my fault. No one can forgive that, not even you."

"You think you made me fall?"

"Can't tell me what I did was unrelated to..."

"You arrogant serpent." But there was no wrath or spite. He calmed, smiling warmly, "I chose to undo the apocalypse with you. I chose to forsake heaven's will, and I chose to be with you. Don't presume for a moment you influenced me past what I allowed. And what happened wasn't because we had sex. It was because I pledged myself to you." He looked him over, "I suppose I've always created false idols of earthly things but…"

"Well I'm just as guilty… but I'm meant to be a demon! You're…"

"I'm not a demon, love."

"Heaven…?"

"Well, no, not exactly either."

Aziraphale unfolded his wings slowly. They weren't shining celestial white, nor the slick black raven wings of demons. They were a gorgeous, shining silver. Crowley's eyes ran all over them, "What does… what…"

"I don't know. Not yet." He ran a hand through his feathers. He gave Crowley a fond smile and knelt, blowing out a few candles and smudging the chalk circle. Crowley relaxed and let his wings out. 

Aziraphale gasped and reached out, running his fingers over them. Crowley's wings were starting to fade themselves, now a slate grey. Crowley didn't care. He hugged Aziraphale tight, holding the angel's arms to his side and nearly crushing him. He choked out, "I thought I'd never see you again."

He pulled back and looked him over fondly. Aziraphale smiled back, knowing what he meant. He took his hand, "You… you took very good care of me. Thank you. I couldn't have asked for a better…"

Crowley gave him a look, "Go on then."

"...well… I don't know if you're still interested in any…"

He grinned, "Oh angel… you have no idea."

"Well maybe not the… sex part as often."

"No? Yeah, I..." 

"It was… wet. And messy. I'm not sure if I'm as… we'll talk more later. But, er, dating you is something I wouldn't protest…"

They watched each other a bit, both cautious and giddy. Finally, Aziraphale leaned up and kissed him gently. Crowley could hardly stop smiling enough to kiss back. 

Aziraphale held his head still and kissed him a bit more, then pulled back with a smile, going and pouring him a glass, "I was on to you, you know."

"Oh were you?"

"Yes. You did a horrible job at hiding any of it. For a bit there I was worried you were after my pure soul, but…"

"Maybe I was." He touched Aziraphale's back, endlessly comforted by the presence of the wings on them, "Seems I did manage to take it."

"So what do you think we… where do you think we stand, exactly? Heaven hasn't responded to me, but I haven't tried that hard."

Crowley drank from his glass with a little smile, "I reckon it's like I've said. Not heaven or hell. We're on our own side."

Aziraphale smiled, "There's no side I'd rather be on."


End file.
